Relapse
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Han and Leia are away from Hoth again, this time on Ord Mantell. And it's quite different from Kashyyyk. H/L. ESB time period.
1. i

a/n:the tag to 'Interlude' - in other words, what happened on Ord Mantell. between Han and Leia, that is. yes, you need to read 'Interlude.'

* * *

relapse

* * *

He didn't think he expected her at the door. Not at this hour. He didn't even think she expected it of herself, until it happened; but then, he was so lost in terms of understanding her, the way her mind worked, that he couldn't judge with any surety what her intentions were - if she had calculated this, or was struck with spontaneity. It wasn't as if there had been - on Hoth - a continuance, of what had happened on Kashyyyk. He'd had the impression it was going to go like that - tacit acceptance, not a denial of what had happened between them, but not a - true consummation, in the more emotional sense of the word. Still, he had hoped - but Kashyyyk was a humid, summer thaw, and Hoth was reality, freezing her right down to the core again, and he was left sort of floundering - experience a lack of confidence that he hadn't known for years.

He'd stopped hassling her and cajoling her; he no longer spent his time loudly questioning what the hell he was still doing hanging around - he knew, and he was pretty sure she knew. She was a smart woman, and sometimes, he figured he wished she was dumber - she'd be easier, then, and not in a physical sense. He didn't really wish that at all though; if it wasn't for her mind, she'd be no different from all the other women he'd ever been with, and that was the point, the whole damn point - she was unlike anyone or anything he'd ever known, and he wanted to know her better.

When he heard the knock on the door, quiet, but unmistakable, he glanced up from the datapad he was idly shuffling through. It was too gentle a sound for Chewbacca, so he thought something must be up with Luke - probably went down to that cantina even though Han warned him not to, and ended up with some gorgeous piece of work he didn't realize was a professional. Rolling his eyes, Han chucked the datapad aside, mustering a grin, ready to tease the kid within an inch of his young, wide-eyed existence. He got out of bed and took his time strolling towards the door, palming it open with a flourish. He leaned against the frame, running a hand over the back of his neck languidly.

"What kind of trouble y'need me to get ya out of, kid?" he asked, before he really saw her standing there; before he realized it wasn't Luke.

He sobered, quickly, his jaw tightening.

Her dark eyebrows lifted - always expressive, and somehow, always damning, and she tilted her head.

"None, yet," she remarked mildly.

Han rested his hand against the door frame, looking down at her.

"What's up, huh?" he asked edgily, his eyes flicking over her shoulder into the dark hall. "Somethin' wrong?"

There were plenty of things that could be wrong - hell, they weren't even supposed to be on Ord Mantell. It was an emergency landing induced by his beloved ship's faulty attitude, and despite the utter lack of Imperial interest in the casino-laden smuggler haven, it wasn't safe. Han had a reputation that preceded Imperial disdain for him, and Worlport had as much bounty hunter culture in its bones as it did Corellian. It didn't cross his mind, at first, that she might be here for some other reason, somethin' had to be wrong; Chewie, tellin' them the damage to the ship was worse than the thought - or Luke _had_ disappeared, or -

"No," Leia said simply.

Han grit his teeth, staring at her. He leaned more heavily into the door frame, giving her an appraising look. She'd exchanged her snowsuit for something more bland, easier to blend in with, and now, she'd exchanged half of that for comfort. The brown vest she'd worn was unlaced down the front, the flowy blouse under it untucked from her leggings, and loose. He dragged his eyes slowly back to her face, leaning his head forward a little, and making a show of checking the hallway - they were all in a row, their rooms; Leia, Han, Luke, and then Chewie with the _Falcon,_ and bartering for parts in the slums, because all Wookiees looked the same, to humans.

"Mmm, hmm," Han grunted under his breath. "Well, what can I do you for, _Sweetheart_?" he asked pointedly - unspoken: _why're you at my bedroom door at unsuitable o'clock?_

Leia pursed her lips. She crossed her arms, holding her elbows lightly in her palms.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Han raised an eyebrow, briefly undone. He stared at her, his shoulders relaxing a little.

" _Oh_ ," he muttered, in a moment of clarity. Oh, she wanted to come in; oh, she wasn't here on business, not official business. He wanted to be shocked, but this - this had happened before, it was just then, on Kashyyyk, he'd gone to her, and he'd had liquid courage that night, anyway - and she'd made it so silently clear that moment hadn't really existed at all.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, um," he started, stepping back. He nodded. "Yeah," he said hoarsely.

Leia didn't budge for a moment. She flicked her eyes down, and then back up, looking at him through her lashes.

"I'm not," she began quietly, "here for an...update on the _Falcon_."

Han waved her in, flicking his wrist carelessly. He slid his hand over to the palm lock as she stepped over the threshold, nodding to her, nodding to himself.

"I been around the block a few times," he drawled. "I know why you're here," he added under his breath. "Ain't got an update on the _Falcon_ , anyway," he said, and he realized he was talking a little too loud, as she stepped past him, and he locked the door - because unexpectedly, a voice in his head was shouting, sternly, _don't fucking do it, Solo, she's still not ready._

He scowled, and doused the voice - since when had his better angels, if he'd ever really had any, chastised him for casual sex? Han Solo didn't have voices in his head, and Han Solo didn't give a damn about gate-keeping Leia's choices -

It wasn't about her though, was it? It was, and it wasn't; turning her away would be self-preservation, because if Kashyyyk had taught him anything, it's that she was struggling with things beyond him, maybe beyond what he could do to help, and being close to her physically hadn't gotten him any ground in her heart, not the way he saw it. Not the way she acted. She sure as hell didn't seek him out on Hoth, and it was so cold there, he'd thought she'd need a little warmth, a little - connection.

He keyed in a _do not disturb_ message on the door's panel, taking his time, and turned around to face her - found himself staring at her back, as she stared at the unmade bed. Not at all the same as a nest of cozy blankets on the third tier of Chewbacca's bungalow - did that change her mind? Was it more sordid, without the mystic setting, all those trees and teas and herbs and ancient rites? He didn't know how to read this situation, because he was still trying to make sense of the last one - even though he had expected it to kind of be what it was, at the same time, he hadn't. He didn't get the sense that Leia hated or resented him for it, but was there something else at war inside her; something he'd already come to terms with? Or something that was going to hurt him badly, when she figured it out? If she figured it out.

She turned her head, hugging herself.

"I do not feel safe here," she said in a small voice. "On Ord Mantell," she added swiftly, as if she realized he might take it to mean she didn't feel safe with him.

He still bristled a little.

"Hey, you know how the _Falcon_ is, Your Highness," he said edgily. "'M sorry about that - can't land somewhere too remote, then we can't get parts - "

She was shaking her head.

"I didn't mean that to insult you. I don't think it's your fault," she said. "I know it's not your fault."

"Good," he snapped emphatically. "'Cause you know I don't make decisions that put you at risk lightly." He strolled forward, past her, and turned to face her, sitting down hard on the edge of the bed. "You and, y'know - Luke, the Rebellion," he added, muttering it as an afterthought - didn't want to come on too strong now, did he? She was running from _that_ like she was being hunted.

Leia unfolded her arms, and plucked at the loose strings of her vest.

"I just - have a bad feeling," she confided, "and I can't sleep," she gestured at her ribs, and her chest, her fingers twisting like claws, grasping for something, "and I feel...numb, and I hate, I hate," she broke off, hoarse. "I _hate_ that feeling."

There was real venom in her voice, and real heartache. Han leaned back on his arms, looking up at her in what he hoped was a casual way - casual expression, casual position. He noticed her hair was down again - not all the way down, just twisted into the same loose, sort of messy braid it had been back on Kashyyyk. It was like a beacon; some unspoken invitation. She was uncertain where she hadn't seemed to be, there; was that because he had been the one to come on so strong, to be so resolute?

"You think I can help or somethin'?" Han prompted, a little resistant.

Leia drew her lower lip between her teeth.

"I think," she said, "that you know I don't know how to do this," she murmured. "Take the lead, Han."

He stared at her, his head tilted. The muscles in his neck tensed, and he narrowed his eyes a little - he _could_ throw her out. He ought to -

"You don't?" he asked curtly. "Huh. Kinda seemed like you were a pro."

\- he got that dig in, though, so he supposed he could surrender in good conscience. If she was so new to one night stands, why had she had such an easy time of leaving it all on Kashyyyk? It'd be easy to put her off if he didn't want her so bad - _so bad._ Once wasn't enough because it wasn't just her body he had it bad for, it was all of her, and it had felt like he made some progress on Kashyyyk, somehow - there had certainly been some deeper understanding there.

She looked at him for a long time, with something fragile in her eyes, and he bit the inside of his cheek, struck with a sudden bolt of shame for being terse with her - she was obviously vulnerable; it had obviously taken something for her to seek him out. That had to mean something, didn't it? He hadn't knocked on her door, begging for another tumble in the sheets - she had knocked on his. And he thought, maybe, no matter how bold she acted, or how sure and unconcerned she seemed, that night had meant something - it _had_ to have.

It had to have, or he would lose his mind.

She reached up to toy with the messy tail of her braid.

"I'll - go back to my - "

"No," he cut her off, sitting forward. He reached out one arm, swallowing hard and shaking his head. "Don't," he muttered, waving his hand. "C'mere, c'mere," he said quickly.

He caught her hip in his hand as she moved closer, and pulled her closer, his hands resting on her ribs. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead briefly, contritely, into her stomach, and then straightened up, and looked up at her pointedly, effortlessly shifting her forward, and settling her down onto his lap. He reached up to touch her face lightly, his thumb brushing her lip. His heart raced at the feel of her on him, memories of her under him flooding his mind, and he tried to take a deep breath. It caught in his throat.

"This is what you want, huh?" he asked huskily, leaning in to kiss her jaw, run his hand back over her hair, and hold her hips down tighter on his.

Leia nodded, tilting her head up so he could kiss her neck. He took a deep breath again, his teeth grazing the tender skin over her pulse. He slid a hand over her thigh to her stomach, and then toyed with the metal fastener on her leggings. She held her breath, and nodded again, her hands fluttering at the back of his neck. He buried his nose in her shoulder for a moment, taking the time to run his hands all over her, give himself a moment to understand what he was consenting to - consenting to being used, probably, if this went anything like it did last time; consent to hurting, to frustration, to a desperate insecurity he wasn't used to.

He didn't want to not have her. If he could half-have her - or somehow, show her tonight, that she didn't have to be so goddamn scared -

"Leia," he mumbled in her ear, leaning back heavily. She fell with him, tumbling into his chest with a soft gasp, her thighs stretched over his hips with just the right amount of pressure, and he tilted his head back, his hands falling to her hips and pushing them down on him hard. He groaned softly, and lifted his head again, running his hands up her body to her shoulders and pulling her towards him. She pressed herself against him, and he could feel her heartbeat against his.

He took her cheek in one hand, his fingers tangling up in her hair, holding her gaze. He shifted, rolling over and pressing her under him, his blood rushing in his ears. He could make it so good for her, he could make it - so much better, than last time, though he didn't think she'd been dissatisfied - but he could make it so good she'd stop shutting him out, if this was the only way he could talk to her.

"This is what you need?" he asked, hardly noticing he changed his words, kissing her recklessly, trying to keep his hands from shaking, asking himself - what had he done that had made her want him on Kashyyyk, made her trust him, almost love him; and what was he not doing enough of to make her want him all the time.

"Yes," Leia moaned softly, against his lips. She pushed her hips up against him. "Yes, mmm, yes," she murmured, her breathing already harder.

Han internalized it, her needing him. He held her closer, and it was so strange to him, to be the one searching for more meaning in sex, while she fought off the deeper aspects of intimacy with every fiber of her being. He caught her eyes, and then, almost devastated by his own desire, he flicked his eyes down, and began kissing, kissing, pushing up her shirt, baring her stomach, _kissing_ , until he was half-kneeling off the bed, and he had the best angle to get her leggings off, her legs, positioned just so, over his shoulders. He kissed the naked inside of her thigh, his tongue tracing teasing lines higher, higher -

"Han," Leia gasped in a scandalized hush, half-hissed, inexperience, and hope, breathed into one whisper, that darted down his spine like lightening.

He squeezed her knee tightly.

"I'd have done this, first, last time," he assured her, his voice a sultry, quiet drawl. He looked up at her - she was up on her elbows, peering at him with dark, heady eyes. "If I'd known," he winked at her. "You know," he murmured. She blushed, just the barest blush, but said nothing, and even now, he thought back and wondered if he'd hurt her, and if she'd ever tell him if he had. "Lay your head back, Sweetheart," he murmured, dipping his head between her legs - he didn't think she'd be numb when he was done.

* * *

He lost track of time for hours; it felt like days were passing, and it felt like only minutes. It had that same clandestine, undefined feel to it that Kashyyyk had, but it was also starkly different - she had sought him out, she was more aggressive, more in command, partaking in, rather than having, the experience. He could identify some sort of difference, since then, a difference between the woman she'd been on Kashyyyk, giving in to something, wondering if he could take her to some otherworldly escape, and her, now, a woman who knew that respite was out there somewhere, even if it was just for some blissful handfuls of seconds.

Even when he stopped to catch his breath, he couldn't stop, because every second of pleasure came with the almost excruciating fear that this was the last time, and he was trying to make her understand something, trying to make her feel safe, and to make good on a promise - _It can always be like that. I swear._

There was more said between them this time, but it was of little substance - just small whispered requests, moans of satisfaction.

 _"Yes, oh Han, oh yes -!"_ \- gasped as her head thrashed on the sheets, her hands twisting in tangling in his hair, thighs trembling around his neck.

 _"Good? 'S'it good for you?"_ \- murmured against her neck as he moved inside her, searching for the right pacing, the right rhythm.

 _"Mmhm - can you - a little, um, rougher...?"_ \- a soft, unsure request, whispered in his ear as she gripped his shoulders, and he nodded, speaking between erratic, hard kisses - _"Tell me if it's too hard,"_ \- and then Leia gasping, throwing her head back, holding him tight, _"Right there. Don't stop. Please don't stop."_

He had her in the best ways he could imagine, more than once, more than twice, swept away by the ravenous hunger in her and striving, still, to be there, and convey that - he didn't have to be there only like this, he could be there, if she wanted him, in every which way. She wasn't more than a hair's breadth away from him for most of the night - she felt as good beneath him as she did on top of him, when he held her hips, delirious with the privilege of being inside her, watching her bite her lip and tilt her head back, eyes closed lightly, as if he'd managed to make her stop feeling guilty, and broken, and lifeless, at last. He took pride in making her come - more than once, more than twice - and in the way she gripped his hand so tightly when he held her hips and showed her what was good for him.

 _"Arch your back a little and just keep - keep - keep doin' that, Leia, keep," -_ muttered through clenched teeth as he closed his eyes tight and dug his nails into her waist, ultimately pulling her down to his chest and running his hand roughly over her back and holding her hips against him hard. She caught her breath hard a couple of times, clutching at his shoulders tightly each time he thrust, and he pushed her tangled hair back, tilting her head up and holding her gaze. She swallowed hard, her eyes searching his, and Han could barely keep his open. He pulled her forehead down to his and breathed out slow, crashing down from the high almost as hard as he'd come.

 _"Yeah, Sweetheart. That's - fuck,"_ \- whispered against the corner of her mouth, and her throat, the last thing he said to her for a long time, before they both fell into silence, exhausted and spent.

He still held her for a long time, before she shifted uncomfortably and slipped out of his grip. He didn't miss her wince as she gingerly moved off of him and collapsed to the side; he was quick to turn, and wrap his arms around her. He was relieved when she melted back into him easily, her back pressed against his chest, tangling her arms in his hand holding his hands tightly at her ribs. Han buried his nose in her hair, struggling with the urge to sleep - the sheets were a mess, tangled and shoved down at the end of the bed - and he thought if he did fall asleep, he'd wake up to find her gone, like he had on Kashyyyk. Yet this would be different - there, she'd just gone to see a sunrise; here, she could run to her room, already begin to compartmentalize, and he didn't want to have her and lose her again.

He felt the first shivers of cold at the base of spine even as he fell asleep, and it was a shiver that woke him sometime later - the same night, dark, and confusing - and he was cold, and Leia was not next to him, she was, she was - he sat up, and turned around sharply, irritation crawling over his skin; had she had the nerve to sneak out before morning, even? Without a word, without -

No; she was in the 'fresher. He saw dim golden light spilling out from the cracks of it, and he relaxed a little. He adjusted his pillow, shoving a fist into it for good measure, and then went to reach for the sheets - noticed they had already been neatly untangled, and righted. His legs were covered. He furrowed his brow, and looked back at the occupied 'fresher - had he woken up in the middle of her trying to sneak out? She needed an education, then; you used the 'fresher in your room, not the one you were sneaking out of.

Water started to run, then shut off, and then the light shut off, and Han eased down onto his back, deciding to wait, to see what she would do. His heart slammed in his hears, and moments later, she opened the 'fresher door, and slipped out, walking unhurriedly to the bed, and climbing in. She moved gingerly, very stiffly, obviously concerned with disturbing him, and in a moment that was so full of relief she wasn't running out that Han couldn't think about anything else, he turned to her in the dark.

"'M not asleep," he warned, through a yawn. He moved some pillows for her. "C'mon, settle in," he muttered. "You okay?"

She nodded, her pale skin bright in the dark, her expression hazy, and sleepy. She cleared her throat, not quite settling down, sitting up next to him for a moment thoughtfully. She eventually eased under the covers, stretching out on her side. She sighed, and glanced down, her eyes on his chest. He moved closer, and slid his arm around her, tucking her in against his chest and under his chin. She said something very quietly, and he grunted, tilting his ear a little, tacitly asking that she repeat it. She cleared her throat again.

"I'm a little sore," she murmured. She blinked. "And I...bled," she added under her breath.

Han tightened his arms; kissed her forehead.

"S'not weird," he muttered, unfazed. shifted his head, resting his chin lightly on her temple. "S'only the second time." And then some, though that went unspoken. "Better than numb?"

She shrugged, and said nothing, and Han closed his eyes.

"Leia," he breathed after a moment. " _Did_ I hurt you? On Kashyyyk?"

Leia shook her head.

"You sure?"

She laughed. She clutched his bicep tightly.

"For a minute," she said softly. "But...I barely remember it. It's like that twinge was..." she sighed, "erased from my mind. Must be...biological imperative."

Han laughed huskily. She squeezed him again, and then turned over delicately, letting him wrap her up into a comfortable spoon. She laced her fingers into his and held their palms against her heart, her breathing slowly easing and calming as she tried to coax herself back to sleep. She sighed, her voice trembling, when she spoke again.

"I'd like to go back to Kashyyyk."

Han shifted his head, his nose brushing against the nape of her neck. She'd felt safer there, at peace, ethereal - so far removed from the conflict that she'd been able to convince herself she might be happy, that finding something as unexpected and beautiful as Han was a good thing, and it wouldn't be taken away from her. But trying to find that again with him, here, in the slumlord hotels of Ord Mantell - felt cheaper, and coarser, and it had nothing to do with Han, just everything to do with her own personal demons, and how scared she was of committing to anything.

His fingers stroked through her hair gently.

"You ever think it's not Kashyyyk that got to you?" he asked gruffly. "Maybe it's me."

He said it with charm, soft, flirtatious moxie that was meant to be roguish, but accidentally carried so much hope and truth that it was serious, down to the core. Was it so hard for her to cope with the idea that she might feel the same way he did? He didn't think that was it - he didn't think she'd come here tonight to bestow a treat on him; he knew she was fighting her own battles, sprinting off the beaten paths, scaling walls, struggling with herself, and if she felt some sort of peace on Kashyyyk, she was trying to reclaim it. He just wanted - needed - her to realize - that's what he wanted to give her, to be for her.

She was still, too still. She turned in his arms, and faced him again, her brow brushing against his chin, and her eyes, wandering over his jaw, and his lips, finally up to his.

She reached for his face, touching his neck reverently.

"Maybe," she whispered boldly, her voice shaking. She shifted her hips against his under the sheets, and looked at him with a raw, pleading expression - one that prompted him to touch her elbow warily, shake his head - "You said you were sore," he warned.

She swallowed hard.

"Better than numb," she repeated huskily, pressing closer, and closer.

Han felt winded, his mouth dry, his head pounding, heart racing - and he rolled, to pull her under him again. That meant something, didn't it? Maybe? Maybe - _Sweetheart_ , he thought, wanting to wake up next to her in the morning, and dreading, deep down, how all this would look in the duller, harsher light of day - _what else do you need from me?_

He'd been hanging around for her, and only her, for so long.

* * *

Morning brought _knocking_ , frantic, aggressive knocking. The persistent sound dragged him out of a deep sleep, and he was startled by the grogginess. Ever on the run, he was usually alert within milliseconds of being disturbed, anxious and ready for a threat. Han turned his head roughly, shoving a hand over his ear, and then rose up a little, blinking. His first concern - foolishly, probably - was not who was knocking, and why, but was she still - ? She was, stirring next to him with the same vaguely alarmed confusion.

Their eyes met, and she let out a breath, blowing tangled strands of hair away from her mouth. Han rubbed one eye, and felt somewhat like he did after long nights of drinking, except this was the best hangover he'd ever seen - even when it started to hurt later, he'd love it. The knocking still went on, and Leia turned, frowning nervously.

"What - ? " she began huskily.

Han was distracted by the sound of her early-morning voice. He stared at her, contemplating the day, and then a muffled shout burst through the door.

" _Han_! Han, _wake up_. Are you in there?"

Luke's voice was full of panic, and repressed, as if he needed to shout, but was trying to keep his cool. Han swore under his breath, shoving his hair back, and turned to give the door an annoyed look, rolling his eyes. Wondering what the hell the kid actually had gotten himself into -

"Han, _come on._ Please - I haven't heard from Leia - she's not answering her comm or her door - and Chewie isn't, either - !" Luke really was yelling, now, and he sounded close to tears.

Han pushed himself up, and started to roll over and get out of bed. Leia's arm darted out, and she grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide. She shook her head.

"Wait - what are you going to - tell him?" she asked, stricken.

Han furrowed his brow, looking at her incredulously.

"That you're in here, and you're fine," he retorted - the truth, in other words.

"He can't know I'm in here," Leia blurted. "I don't want him to - " she stopped.

He wondered if it was the look on his face that stopped her, and he wondered what his face actually looked like - when he heard her say that. He grit his teeth, swallowing hard; the knocking went on, and Han sat on the edge of the bed, flinging his hand out.

"So, what d'ya want, Leia?" he snapped. "Want me to let him think we're both dead? Kidnapped? Ignore the kid?" he asked. "It's _Luke_." He flung the sheets back, standing up and looking around for his discarded clothes. "It's not fuckin' Mon Mothma," he said, half to himself, bitterness overwhelming his tone. His stomach twisted - _can't know you're in here, huh, Sweetheart? Sith forbid._

Han yanked on his bloodstripes without bothering for underwear, and held them closed at the hips, forgoing a belt or buttons. He stormed over to the door - the damn knocking was starting to give him a headache - and after fumbling with the do not disturb setting, he palmed the receiver, and it flew open with a smooth _schnick_ sound. Luke stood there, his fist raced, red in the face, his blue eyes wide, and petrified. Luke's mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, and then he glared, lowering his hand and putting it on his hip. Han arched his brows in amusement for a moment at the nursemaid-like gesture.

"About _damn_ time!" Luke blustered with unconvincing machismo. "I thought you were - oh, I'm sorry," he said, quickly backtracking, noting Han's state of disarray. "I woke you up. Or - interrupted. Er, well," he trailed off, blinking at Han.

Han stared back at him, standing at his full height in the doorway, but still not quite blocking it. These vertical pod doors - they didn't allow for the sort of sneaking that hinged doors did. Luke sighed, and reached up to rub his forehead, his brow creasing. He pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said again, calmer. "I tried to wake Leia and I'm not getting any response, not even on her comm. She always answers her comm."

Han grunted.

"She's fine, kid," he said.

"You don't know that," Luke pressed urgently. "And she - shouldn't be walking around alone on Ord Mantell, anyway."

Han looked at him for a minute, and then stood aside a little, lowering his arm from the door frame. He turned his head pointedly, and gestured at the bed, still holding his trousers firmly at his waist. Leia lifted her head, and looked at Luke boldly - very boldly, considering how resistant she had been. She'd drawn the covers over her knees and up around her chest, but it was clear to any observer what had been going on, and Han only let Luke take it in for a minute before he stepped in front of Leia again.

"See, okay?" he muttered, suddenly feeling deflated. He saw the injured look in Luke's eyes, and didn't know if he was upset just because he was shocked, or because he still had a little crush on her. He didn't like how vindictive he'd just felt, almost bragging about being with Leia - particularly when he wasn't with her, not like he wanted to be; not when she wouldn't let him any closer. "She's fine," he said again.

Luke grit his teeth. He stared at Han for a long time, and then shrugged, his expression going blank. Han reached up to run a hand through his hair tensely, offering a carefree smirk - forcing one. He nodded at Luke.

"We'll see ya a little later, eh, Luke?" he offered.

Luke shrugged again, and nodded, turning on his heel - satisfied that neither of them were dead, he retreated down the hall, his shoulders a little bent. Han watched him flippantly key himself back into his room, and only ducked back into his when Luke was safely out of the hallway. Stepping back, Han turned to the keypad and slowly closed the door. He watched it slide down, latch, and then he ran his palm over the crevice between it and the wall, his knuckles turning white as he stood there, staring at it, silent. He turned back to her, dragging his trousers up on his hips a little by hooking his thumbs in the empty loops.

He rubbed his jaw, then looked down to pull up the zipper, and fix the buckle. The pants stayed up, slung low, and he let his arms hang at his sides, looking at her blankly. He gave a rough shrug.

"Do I make you feel bad about yourself or somethin'?" he asked heavily.

Leia lifted her head from her knees, one of her hands twisting tensely in the sheets. She pursed her lips, swallowing hard - and her eyes widened, glittering and wet. He decided abruptly that he didn't want to hear the answer - why bother; why have her put into words why she wanted to ignore Kashyyyk, and hide this from Luke? He waved his hand roughly, then strode forward, bent down, and grabbed his shirt, throwing it over his head as he stormed into the 'fresher without another word.

He turned on the sink, bending down to splash his face and to rinse his mouth out. Spitting, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped his skin dry, then tossed it over to sani bin. Next to it, he noticed, there was a towel on the floor; a sickly, light beige in colour, and spotted with dried blood. He bent over and grabbed it, picking it up with a sinking feeling. Everything - everything about this was so much less - he didn't know the word; Leia would know the word, but this wasn't Kashyyyk. He thought he was making a connection on Kashyyyk, laying groundwork, and now -

"Han," she said, appearing next to him in the doorway, leaning against the wall - clutching at it for support. She licked her lips, swallowing hard as he turned to look at her. He set the towel on the sink. "No," she said softly. "You don't make me feel bad." She bit her lip, lifting her shoulder. "You make me feel good."

Han leaned on his palm, shrugging at her jerkily. He shook his head, and picked up a disposable razor as if he was going to shave - because he needed to do something with his hands.

"Don't think you get what I'm sayin'," he muttered. He started to turn away, and then he turned back, his eyes flashing. He raised his finger, and pointed at her. "You know it's - of course it's - _yeah_ it feels good when I've got my tongue between your legs, Your Highness, but _that's not what I mean_."

Leia nodded, flinching.

"You don't," she said again, firmer. "You don't make me feel bad about myself."

He breathed out hard, tilting his head back, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.

"Then what's your deal? Why's it matter if Luke knows?" he demanded.

"It's private," she murmured edgily.

He threw the razor back down.

"Why's this only a thing when we're not on Hoth?" he snapped, gesturing between them. He turned to face her, toe to toe with her in the doorway, and Leia looked up at him - she looked twice as small as she was, and it bothered him. He couldn't break this habit because he wanted to be chosen by her as badly as he wanted to be around her, to get attention from her - whatever the cost.

Either she couldn't, or wouldn't, answer; she stared at him, mute. He rubbed his forehead, his hands shaking, and then lowered his hands, clenching his fists to control his temper.

"You don't think I'm good enough for you, do you?" he asked.

She took a lunging step forward, and touched his ribs. She shook her head furiously.

"I think you're good, I think you're too good," she said, her words a jumble, catching in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes, and Han pushed at her hand gently, shaking his head, still frustrated.

"That's idiotic, too," he mumbled, embarrassed - he wasn't _too_ good for her; _what the hell?_ His chest started to ache. He turned, and looked at the bloodstained towel, turning back to her with a hard sigh. "You sure you're all right?" he asked, gesturing at it. Leia followed his hand with her eyes, and nodded dismissively. "Be nice if I could make you feel somethin' other than pain," he sneered.

" _You do_ ," she burst out finally. She gasped like the words hurt her. "I needed Kashyyyk, I _needed_ last night, I, I," she stammered.

"Why do I have to hurt for you to feel better?" Han demanded, raising his voice. "How's that fair?"

"It's not!" Leia shouted hoarsely. "I am trying, I am trying, _I am trying so hard,_ Han!"

She pleaded with him with wide open eyes, and even if he was fooling himself, he felt that was something; he deflated. He couldn't yell at her anymore; didn't have the energy to push back. He'd backed off a lot after Kashyyyk; maybe he needed to pursue her again, with more confidence. If he knew what was holding her back - but she couldn't seem to say anything to him, not when it mattered. She was so good with words and speeches and debates, but when it was just the two of them alone, Leia was just, she was just -

 _Scared_ , he thought, dully.

He stepped forward, and placed his hands tenderly on either side of her face. He tilted her head up, and kissed her below both eyes, and on the brow, taking a deep, steadying breath. He could take a step back to compose himself - and let her calm down - and they'd go about this day, and then later, they'd -

"Okay," he murmured, very gruff. "Okay. We'll talk."

He stepped back, looking away. He was disconcerted. He reached for the 'fresher door, smiled at her tensely, and then closed it on her, turning away for a moment. He grit his teeth, grinding them until it hurt, and then sat down on the edge of the 'fresher basin. He was going to have to make a decision about his own emotional health, and he hated - he fucking hated that. If this hadn't happened, they might have been able to go on at that same slow evolving, slow burn pace that had taken them since Kashyyyk - but what they were feeling was stronger than both of them, and it was imprisoning her, and tearing him apart. He rubbed his forehead hard, taking a few calming breaths.

He stood up, and reached for the razor again. Scrape off a little five o'clock shadow, and then, they'd -

He heard a door out in the main room, and a scuffle - a thud. He dropped the razor, and whirled to one of the hooks on the wall, where he'd hung his belt and weapons last night before bed. He pulled the blaster from its holster at the same time he heard Leia give a high-pitched, involuntary yelp, and he had the 'fresher door open just as fast, barging into the room with the weapon raised.

He faced Leia, on her knees, her head forced forward by a reptilian grip on her neck and the muzzle of a blaster that dug into her hair, parting it neatly down the middle. The bounty hunter held her there, a perfect definition of execution style, and the sights of Han's blaster blurred as his vision swam, try as he did to focus on the sinister figure standing behind her.

His heart plummeted to his stomach, and it felt like all the rest of him fell through the floor as well. He felt empty, hollow - if that thing touched a hair on her head, he'd - if there was anything he could do, he'd -

"You're lucky Jabba wants you alive, Solo. Drop the blaster, come with me," Leia grunted as the bounty hunter shoved her head forward harder with the blaster, "or the bitch gets it."

\- and thinking as fast as he could, even as the impossible scene unfolded, he held up both hands, and thrust his finger off the trigger of his blaster, because he'd do anything for her.

* * *

 _yes, that is how it ends. because the bounty hunter caper is not really the story i'm telling_  
 _the epilogue will mirror Han's from 'Interlude' and will be up later this week._

 _-alexandra_

 _story #375_


	2. epilogue

a/n: some familiar words, again. leia's perception of the corridor argument.

* * *

relapse: epilogue

* * *

She could feel the eyes of everyone in the command center deliberately focused away from her. They had all heard Han, and she knew it, and she also knew they _weren't_ looking at her because somehow, they must feel for _him;_ it didn't really matter that they had no idea what her side of the story was. They couldn't; she barely understood it. She closed her eyes for a brief second, and then abandoned her station, storming off after him. She ignored the troubled look Carlist Rieekan threw after her as she slapped her palm nervously on the control panel and flew out the door down the hall.

"Han!"

She shouted his name, hoping her voice didn't shake too much. She didn't even know why she was - or what she was going to say - she just - she didn't want him to leave; she really didn't want him to leave. It just seemed - pathetic, somehow, to beg him to stay - and to stay for her, when the Rebellion was so much bigger than two people, and she was too fragile to take risks, anyway.

She skidded to a stop as gracefully as possible, her hands clenching at her sides. He turned sharply, raising one hand in a dramatic mockery of deference.

" _Yes_ , Your Highness-ness?"

She winced at the bitterness of his words; the extra derision he inflicted on her title said so much about how he was feeling. She was hyper-aware of their location - _exposed._ The argument could be easily witnessed, the idea of which horrified her, despite her chasing after him. She could feel herself shutting down, and she tried to resist it - _no_ , she thought, _keep him engaged_ \- toe to toe, she faced him, tilting her head up.

"I thought you had decided to stay," she said coolly.

She held his haze intently, challenging him - hadn't he? Had she misunderstood? When he hadn't taken off after the debacle with Chewbacca, and everything that happened on Kashyyyk - when he didn't even take payment for the mission that ended with them stranded on Ord Mantell and the, and the bounty hunter - after everything that happened on Ord Mantell, he couldn't possibly still be planning on leaving, and if this was another threat...if this was another manipulative threat, she just couldn't take the mind games anymore.

His lip curled in a sarcastic sneer.

"Well, the bounty hunter we ran into on Ord Mantell changed my mind," he snapped.

She parted her lips, almost able to feel the cold, reptilian metal of Fett's glove against her throat. The back of her head ached, remembering the feel of the blaster muzzle, and the stricken, pale look on Han's face as he dropped his blaster and knelt across from her, placing his hands on the back of his head - _surrendering_. The way he'd - seemed cool, collected, telling the bounty hunter - _\- easy, easy, don't hurt her. Don't hurt her._ If Luke hadn't come charging back, having heard Leia's yelp -

"Han, we need you!" Leia barked.

Didn't he understand that Ord Mantell had scared the hell out of her, too? Up until that moment, she'd thought she'd be okay with dying during this war, she'd thought that - maybe, she wasn't suicidal, but she wasn't that driven to survive, either - but when Fett put that blaster to her head, the desire to live was so strong it almost drove her to tears - and to see Han give up like that, without a fight, his freedom for her life - if it scared him enough to make him run, why didn't he understand it scared her, too - ?

His eyebrows flew up and he jerked back a little, swallowing hard.

" _We_ need?" he quoted, raising his hand.

"Yes," she said urgently.

He curled his fingers into a fist and pointed at her, his knuckles turning white.

"Oh," he breathed, almost mocking. "What about what _you_ need?" he demanded.

His eyes flashed, and Leia was overwhelmed for a moment with the intensity of his emotion, conveyed solely through the tightness of his jaw, and the turmoil in his eyes.

" _I_ need?" she questioned lamely, hating - hating herself for it - and in her head, she could hear the whispered words from Ord Mantell - _This is what you need?_ And her response - _Yes, yes, mmm, yes._

His hand lingered close to her face, menacing, his expression impatient, tense. It lacked all the softness and intimacy she'd seen on Kashyyyk, and it even lacked the hopeful heartache she'd seen on Ord Mantell, and she was screaming inside herself, a small, long-suppressed part of her throwing a fit and kicking at the cages in her heart in soul - _let me out, let me out, I want him, tell him you want him_ \- she struggled to listen to that part of her, but the idea of love, of having someone to love, and to love her, seemed so much more terrifying than fighting a war. And she had lost so much -

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly.

The words burned her lips as she said them, and Han clenched his fist hard, tilting his head, and sucking his tongue between his teeth aggressively.

"You probably do," he ground out between clenched teeth - and whipped around on his heel, storming off.

Leia's heart leapt into her throat, even as her stomach dropped to her toes, and her boots crunched in the snow as she instinctively went after him. Her head was a mess. She could barely make sense of why she kept chasing him, when all she kept doing was hurting him - as awful as it was, his repeated empty threats to leave had taught her he was one of the very few constants in her life, that he'd be there while she was able to get herself together, and faced with losing him, instead of finding it in her to tell him in plain words she did need him, she retreated, foolishly telling herself she was right; _see? He will leave, you will lose him, you knew it -_

"And what precisely am I supposed to know?" she burst out.

 _\- this is your self-fulfilling prophecy, Leia,_ she thought.

"Come _on_ ," Han shouted, his back to her. He lost some of his finesse, his volume rising with his anger. "You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!"

Leia gained on him, arguing her party line, despite the storm inside her -

"Yes! You're a great help to us; you're a natural leader - "

She was glad he chose then to turn around aggressively, towering over her, cutting her off. She didn't even want to finish her empty sentence, and as she reared back, startled by his closeness, her heart sped up painfully, and she asked herself why, why, _why_ was it so easy to be physically intimate with him, and so impossible to let herself feel. It shouldn't even have been easy to - to sleep with him -

"No," Han barked firmly. "That's not it."

Leia took a step back as an ensign cut between them, and her faced paled, reminded that they were in public. She stared at Han with wide eyes, concerned, for a moment, that he might shout the explicit details of their nights together for this whole hallway to hear. She saw his expression darken considerably as she worriedly looked around them, and remembered, with fresh shame, his questions back on Ord Mantell - _you don't think I'm good enough for you, do you?_

 _"Come on_ ," Han snapped again, gritting his teeth hard. He waited, and Leia said nothing, her lips parting anxiously. "Ahhh," he teased harshly, biting back a smirk. "Come on," he coaxed again, softly.

She wanted to slap his hand down - _in the middle of the hallway, Han?_

"You're imagining things," Leia spat.

She shoved her tongue against her teeth as she clenched them, her pupils dilating in shock. He reared backwards, eyes darkening bitterly, and blinking, as if he was shocked himself. He looked as if he would slap her, and she didn't think she'd be surprised if he did. She almost flung herself forward and caught his hands, and begged him to ignore what she'd just said - of course he wasn't imagining - Kashyyyk hadn't been a dream, neither had Ord Mantell, those experiences were so precious to her -

"Am I?" he snarled. "Then why are you following me?"

His eyes raked over her with violence, and so little compassion.

"Afraid I was going to leave without giving you a goodbye kiss?" he taunted.

Leia was silent, her ears ringing. She bit down on her tongue, lowing her head a little - she was afraid of that; she was also afraid of never seeing him again, and she was afraid of a man who would lay down his life and his freedom just so she'd be safe, because she had so much responsibility, and she didn't think she could return the favor for him - she had to live, and now she knew she wanted to, but her mission in life, her purpose, was seeing this war through - and would he understand that? Did he know what he was getting into - that it would always be a deeper commitment than just committing to _her?_

He stepped closer, his voice lower.

"Why'd you do this to me, Leia?" he demanded, words husky, and thick.

Her eyes stung, and she blinked back tears, shaking her head. There had never been any malice in her intentions - he had come to her on Kashyyyk, and she'd let it happen because she wanted it, and things were so beautiful there; she had run to him on Ord Mantell, and maybe, if that bounty hunter hadn't shaken them both to the very core, they could have talked, like he'd said they would, and she'd have been able to say -

"You're as cold as this planet," Han accused hoarsely.

Leia swallowed hard, trying to keep tears at bay.

"And you think you're the one to apply some heat?" she asked shakily - her voice cracked; why did he persist? Why did he think he could handle her, and everything that came with her? It was a miracle that both nights she was with him, he hadn't seen her wake up shrieking, bathed in icy sweat and tangled in her sheets, crying for her mother and her father and for the pain to just _stop._ That wasn't beauty, that wasn't the dream he thought she was -

"What do you think I've been trying to do?" he asked.

He swallowed hard, not giving her a moment to answer.

"I'm not really interested anymore," he bit out harshly. He clenched his fist, and clenched his teeth, and leaned closer. "I told you to stop me. You should have stopped me," he hissed, and he sounded bone-tired, soul-tired, and devastated. "If you didn't want me - you didn't have to do _this_."

Her breath caught in her throat painfully. She bit her lip until it felt numb with the sharp twinge, and he stared at her, waiting, waiting, his eyes searching hers - while she forgot how to speak; was he really declaring that he was done, or was he trying, as a last desperate attempt, to get her to say something more real than - the things she whispered to him in bed.

He turned on his heel, and stormed down the hall.

"Han," she called, her voice breaking, - her voice soft, and more intense.

He did not turn around, and she closed her eyes, turning to lean against the icy wall. It burned frigidly into her back, and she felt as frozen as the world around her, as trapped, as imprisoned as their little band of Rebels - all the loss, and all the violence, had ruined her somehow, broken her; she had thought trusting him with her body might make it easier for her to trust him with her heart, but she was still so guarded - and she really thought, this time -

He wasn't coming back for her.

* * *

the end

* * *

 _\- alexandra_


End file.
